


What About Us?

by AMaroonKindOfOrange (XylB)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Slightly Canon-Divergent, injured Simmons, set in Season 13, where it's the Feds and rebels working together against the pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 22:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7952464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/AMaroonKindOfOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons gets hurt and his relationship with Grif goes to shit. </p><p>(Terrible summary, but it does have a happy ending.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What About Us?

Simmons is dizzy. 

 

He's dizzy and tired and - _stay awake_ \- and really fucking confused. He can't breathe he can't - oh, he can. He can but it hurts and it feels like only one lung's working.

 

_Grif, hold him down. I'll be back in a second._

_Where the fuck are you going? Wash!_

 

Simmons tries to say something but his mouth refuses to cooperate and he just kind of moans. He's so dizzy. He can see his visor - full of red blaring alarms - _life support down, blood loss: 16%_ \- and beyond it, sky. There's something yellow - or orange? - in the corner of his vision, but he can't focus on it.

 

_Okay, Tucker, I need you to hold him down. Grif, help me take off the armour._

_Why have I gotta hold him down?_

_Just do it, Tucker._

 

Simmons shuts his eyes to stop the spinning and something hits him.

 

_Stay awake, asshole._

_Tucker, take his helmet off._

 

The visor lifts away and he hears a faraway thud and there's another helmet looking down at him.

 

 _Holy shit._ It says.

 

Liquid bubbles up his throat and Simmons jerks against the hands holding him down. There's red - red? Blood? - spraying up and hitting the blue - bluegreenturquioseaqua - helmet above him.

_He's choking, get him on his side!_

 

Simmons is so dizzy. His world turns and falls and he's so heavy. He hears a ripping sound and then there's blinding pain.

 

_Okay, I've got the main panel open. Going to rewire the power to life support._

_No, don't touch that one! Here, c'mon._

_I'm sorry, Grif, do you know how to handle the inner workings of a cyborg?_

_Fuck off, Wash._

_I'll do it, Grif, just focus on keeping him steady. One sudden move and he could die._

Are they talking about him? Simmons coughs again but agony shoots up his skull when he tries to close his mouth.

_Tucker, do you know how to relocate a jaw?_

_Uh, I think so?_

_I'll do it. Just - let me fix this first._

_You're fucking it up, let me do it._

_Grif, you don't know -_

_Yes I fucking do!_  

 

Simmons hurts.

 

_...you do?_

_I've - had to fix him before. Not this - never this badly, though._

_You can fix a cyborg?_

_Uh, yeah._

_Nerd._

_Shut up, Tucker._

_Okay - okay, you handle this. I'll go relocate his jaw._  

Simmons can't remem - remember. He knows colours, knows - things, but where is he?

 

_Stop moving, Simmons._

 

Moving? He's - he's not moving. Is he?

 

A hand suddenly appears and it's two seconds then bright pain and something grinding and Simmons groans again. His eye feels wet. Then it dawns on him he can't see anything with his left eye.

 

_Are you almost done, Grif?_

_Yeah, but this next part's gonna hurt like a bitch._

 

Simmons doesn't know where he is. Doesn't know - doesn't -

 

_We're gonna need to reboot him after this._

_Reboot?_

_Yeah. Hardware's shot to all hell. There's no way his programming survived. He probably doesn't even know he's twitching._

_Shit, man._

_Probably doesn't even know who we are._

 

That last one's quieter. 

 

Simmons hears a click and then he screams.

 

 _Sorry, 'm sorry_ \- muttered by someone, the someone he can't see.

 

There's a whir and suddenly green light in the corner of his vision and a split second later he can see with his other eye.

 

Then pain slices through his skull and he _remembers_ \- he knows - that's Grif fiddling with the - control panel?

Control panel? Why does he have - cyborg, he's a cyborg oh god oh god -

 

_He's gonna pass out soon._

_Tucker, get the Warthog._

 

\- and because Simmons is a creature of habit he gasps out the only name he can think of. "Dex."

 

 "Shut up." Short and clipped and Simmons sees the grey helmet look over. 

 

_Grif._

_Shut up, Wash._ It's shaky and Simmons doesn't like the hitch in it.

 

Then there's pain and his world goes black.

\----

Simmons hears snoring before he opens his eyes. He can't move, but he must twitch because a hand lays over his.

 

"Simmons?" The voice is soft, familiar. It takes Simmons too many seconds to place it.

"Wash?" His throat's dry and it comes out like a croak.

"Don't speak."

Yeah, Simmons can do that. He opens an eye - human eye, and looks at a blurry Wash. A few blinks and he comes into focus. Moonlight shines on him.

 

He looks over towards the source of the snoring - Grif. With the armour, he seems way too big for the chair he's in. Wash glances over, too.

 

"We're taking turns watching you," he explains, hushed. He looks back at Simmons and smiles sheepishly. "I didn't want to wake him."

 

Simmons blinks once in acknowledgement and shifts his head on the pillow.

 

"Do you know where you are?"

Simmons shakes his head ever so slightly.

"You're in the hospital. We went on a mission and you got shot. Your cyborg parts were heavily damaged." Wash pauses to swallow and rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "It was - uh, it was Grif who saved you. I don't know if you remember - any of that, after you were shot, but - yeah."

Simmons squeezes Wash's hand in thanks. Wash smiles and squeezes back. "You should probably rest."

 

Simmons closes his eyes and sleeps.

\---- 

Next time he opens his eyes, it's daylight and Tucker's reading a tablet next to him. Simmons grunts and Tucker looks over.

 

"Hey." He scoots his chair a little closer and turns the tablet off. "You need anything?"

"Where's Grif?"

Tucker chuckles nervously and looks at a spot next to Simmons' shoulder. "Um, he can't - he can't come right now. He's - busy. I'm sure he'll show up on his break."

Simmons furrows his eyebrows and frowns.

"Sorry, Simmons."

 

Simmons closes his eyes. He hears the creak of the chair as Tucker leans back in it.

 

Simmons sleeps.

\--

He wakes up and sees a flash of pink before the beeping of the machines becomes ringing alarms and he hears Donut calling for - for someone and then he sinks back into black.

\--

Simmons jolts awake from a nightmare the next time. It goes as soon as he even realises and he's left grasping at the fleeting tendrils of pain and hurt it leaves him.

 

"Help," he says, but he doesn't know why. It feels right.

 

Someone's hand grabs his and he registers Wash. He looks exhausted.

 

"Are you okay?" He asks, worry etching lines into his face.

"Yeah." There's more saliva in his mouth now. "Don' know why I said that," he rasps. "Sorry."

"No, no, don't be. It's fine." Wash scrubs a hand over his face. "Do you need anything?"

"...where's Grif?"

Wash opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He licks his lips, tries again. "I'm sorry, Simmons."

 

Why does everyone keep apologising to him?

 

He tries to ask but instead he coughs and Wash snags a tissue to wipe his mouth afterwards. Simmons spies a drop of red on it when Wash pulls it away.

 

"'M bleeding?"

"It's not bad. The coughing just dislocated the scab. But they've got you on so many painkillers you probably can't feel it."

Simmons grunts in acknowledgement.

 

Just then Tucker walks in, helmet under his arm.

 

"Wow, you look like shit," he says.

"Tucker," Wash warns. He stands up and pulls his helmet on.

"Yeah, yeah, don't insult the coma patient, got it. He need anything before I settle in?"

Wash looks at Simmons, who just says "Where's Grif?"

 

Tucker sighs and pushes past Wash. "Your lunch is waiting."

"Thanks," Wash says, and hands the tablet to Tucker.

"Where's Grif?" Simmons asks again once Wash is gone.

"Look, Simmons - "

"Is he okay? Is he alive?"

"What? Yeah, yeah, he's fine, he just - he - " Tucker looks lost. He sighs. "He hasn't come round to - to see you."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Sorry."

 

Simmons turns his face away and he hears Tucker lean back. He doesn't know why - probably the painkillers and the coma and just fucking everything in his life - but tears well up in his human eye. He lets them trace their way down into his hairline. He's just grateful that Tucker can't see the human side of his face.

\---- 

Simmons dozes while Donut switches shifts with Tucker, but he wakes up in the middle of the night. His breathing must change because Donut puts down his magazine - where did he even get that? - and asks him if he's okay in a voice that's way too cheery for this situation.

 

"Hurts," he says, because his body kind of just...aches.

"Oh, they started lowering your painkiller dosage. Give you a chance to be conscious more often!" A pause. "If it hurts too much, let me know and I'll get someone."

"Thanks."

"No problemo!"

Simmons doesn't even bother to correct his Spanish.

 

Silence passes between them for a few minutes and Donut peruses the article in front of him. Simmons has nothing to do except stew in his own thoughts and he hates it, hates being still like this because it always comes back to the same thing. He clenches and unclenches his jaw but that hurts more, causing tears to spring to his eyes.

 

"Where's Grif?"

"Hm?" Donut looks up from his page. "Oh! He's probably sleeping."

"Tucker told me - he hasn't visited."

Donut's face falls. "Oh. He told you."

"Why doesn't he visit, Donut?" Simmons' throat chokes up and he barely gets the words out - god, he shouldn't be this _emotional_.

"I'm sorr-"

"I don't wanna hear it." And Simmons' face crumples and he turns his head away from Donut, buries the human half of his face in the pillow so it catches his tears. God, he's pathetic, so goddamn pathetic but he just - he just wants to see Grif - just -

 

Simmons starts sobbing, these little hitching wet noises that he _hates_. Donut's hand rubs comforting circles on his chest and Donut stays quiet.

\---- 

Simmons is discharged a week later. Wash helps him out of the bed.

 

"You good?" Wash adjusts his grip on Simmons' waist.

"Yeah, just - go slow." Simmons takes a deep breath and takes a small step forward. Wash's hand goes up to hold onto the arm slung around his shoulders.

 

It takes five minutes to leave the hospital. A bracing wind sweeps across them when they step outside and Simmons shivers. He hadn't realised how thin he'd gotten.

 

"How long was I out for?"

"Month and a half."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Wash sighs.

 

Simmons is silent the rest of the way.

\----

Simmons is still on bed rest, but at least he's in his own bed this time. Wash comes to help him eat or shower ( _that_ was embarrassing) and Donut swings by to catch him up on all the things he's missed.

 

He doesn't see Grif for two whole days.

 

When Grif comes in, the first thing he says is "Holy shit." Simmons chuckles mirthlessly and coughs up more blood. He wipes it away with a tissue and spits into it. Apparently his throat was pretty badly damaged, but they managed to fix it before he woke up so now he just has the stitches in there. Except those make him cough and that makes blood.

 

Grif sets his helmet on his own bed and steps closer to Simmons. He looks tired.

 

"So - "

"Where were you?" Simmons glares at Grif.

"Uh - what?"

"Why didn't you visit? I was asking for you, you fucking asshole!" He coughs again, more violently this time, and he wipes himself with his sleeve.

"Are you - " Grif comes towards him, presumably to help, but Simmons launches his tablet at him.

"Get the fuck out of here!"

Grif backs sheepishly away and he leaves without his helmet.

\---- 

"Look, Simmons, you can't alienate Grif like this," Wash tells him later, while he's supervising Simmons' dinner. Simmons doesn't need watching, he just sits in bed and eats, but Wash is insistent.

"Whatever."

"No, it's not whatever."

"He didn't visit me for a month and a half."

"He was there in the beginning! It just - it was hard, Simmons. For all of us."

"Bullshit." Simmons leans his head against the wall.

Wash pinches the bridge of his nose. "We didn't know if you were going to live. You can't blame him - "

"Yes I fucking can! I nearly died and where was he?"

"He saved your life in the first place!"

"Then why the fuck didn't he visit, Wash?! I thought he would be there, I thought he - " Simmons looks over at Grif's side of the room and considers his next words. "I thought he cared about me." He says it quietly, has to because if he goes any louder his voice'll break.

"He does care about you," Wash says, pitching his voice low. He placed a hand on Simmons' knee. "He was - He was terrified, Simmons."

"Yeah, well, so was I."

 

Simmons swallows the lump in his throat but it won't budge and instead he presses the heel of his hand into his eye.

\---- 

Simmons can't sleep because his lungs hurt like a motherfucker, so he just lays in bed and listens to Grif's breathing. Grif's not asleep either.

 

"Simmons?"

Simmons grunts.

"Can I - Can I come over?"

They haven't spoken since Simmons came back from hospital. But despite that and despite the fact that Simmons is still angry, he scoots over in his own bed and says "Sure."

 

A rustle of bedsheets and footsteps and then Grif's lying on his back next to him. They don't really fit like this - bed's not wide enough - but Grif isn't draping himself over Simmons like he usually does.

Grif turns into his side and scoots further away from him. Simmons sighs and reaches over to pull at Grif's shoulder.

 

"C'mere."

 

Grif shuffles in next to him and slides down until his face is level with Simmons' shoulder.

 

"Thanks," he says, muffled.

"Asshole," Simmons replies, but he's always slept better with Grif. Grif does sleep better with Simmons, too, but he'll never admit it.

\---- 

Another week and Simmons is in a lot less pain. Thank fuck. He can actually walk to meals now, shower by himself (thank Christ), dress himself, and help in the armoury. He can't do much, but he sits and cleans weapons until his arms ache from all the movement.

 

Grif brings him lunch one day, sliding in next to him on the bench and plopping down a tray in front of the rifle he's disassembling.

 

"Uh, thanks?" Simmons says.

"Wash put me on lunch duty for you."

"I can get it myself."

Grif shrugs. "I know." He shovels a forkful of rice into his mouth.

 

Simmons pokes at his rice with his fork, losing himself in the comfort of Grif's body pressed right next to his.

Grif finishes first and pushes his tray away with a burp. Simmons rolls his eyes.

 

"Wash told me you have to eat everything," Grif says, resting his chin on his hand and watching Simmons.

Simmons scoops some carrots into his mouth.

 

He pauses halfway through his tray, letting his body work through the first half for a few minutes.

 

"Tucker told me," he says while stabbing a wilted piece of broccoli.

"Told you what?" Grif keeps playing with the parts of the rifle Simmons had taken apart.

"That you didn't visit."

"Simmons - "

"Everyone kept apologising. I didn't know why - I thought -" Simmons sighs " - I don't know."

"They told me you were asking for me."

"So why didn't you come?"

"I - I didn't - I was there at first!" Grif protests, but he still doesn't look at Simmons. 

"I know. I saw you sleeping."

Grif half-smiles at that.

Simmons waits, but Grif doesn't respond with anything.

"I remember, you know," he says.

"Remember what?"

"You saved my life."

 

Grif sighs and puts the rifle parts down.

 

"I've gotta get to training. See you later?"

Simmons looks down at his half-empty tray again. "Yeah, okay," he says.

"Cool." And Grif leaves.

\---- 

Simmons hisses as he rolls onto his side - the movement pulls at his stitches. Grif lifts his arm and drops it again once Simmons resettles himself.

The green glow of his cyborg eye illuminates Grif's face as he studies him. Takes in the scar across his cheek, the line where his skin joins with Simmons', the curve of his lower lip, the shadow of his lashes. Simmons looks and he aches.

Grif's eyes open and look right back at him.

 

"I can feel you watching, you nerd," he grumbles, but he lets Simmons shuffle a little closer.

"Thanks for saving my life," Simmons blurts out. It's been on the tip of his tongue since lunch.

"Yeah, you're welcome, whatever."

 

Simmons closes his eyes and scoots so he can hide his face between Grif's neck and the bed. Grif's breath ruffles his hair.

\---- 

Simmons does shooting practice with Wash, who mostly just corrects his stance.

 

When they're taking a break, Simmons drinking from the water bottle Wash passed to him, Wash asks, "So have you sorted everything out with Grif?"

Simmons shrugs. "No."

"You can't just keep being angry at him."

Simmons doesn't respond, just puts his helmet back on.

"Look, I know he's your friend, but - "

"He's more than that."

Wash looks completely caught off-guard. "What?"

"He's more than a friend."

"What - What do you mean?"

"C'mon, Wash, do I really have to say it?"

"Are you telling me you're, what, together?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, okay, well then, uh - "

"You don't need to say anything."

"I don't?"

"Can we - Can we just practice some more?"

"Sure, okay, that sounds good."

\---- 

"I'm sorry," Grif whispers one night into the back of Simmons' neck while he's curled around him. "For not - visiting. I just - it was scary - what if you - I didn't - "

Simmons squeezes Grif's hand and presses back into him. He knows Grif's never been good with words.

"Fuck it, I love you." It's nearly soundless, but Simmons hears it. He starts to turn over so he can face Grif, but Grif stops him.

"God, please don't," his voice nearly breaks and Simmons has never heard him like this.

Simmons brings up Grif's hand and brushes his lips over the trembling knuckles.

"I love you, too," he whispers. Grif holds him closer.

\---- 

"So what actually happened?"

"Aw, man, it was so dramatic! Grenades exploding, guns firing, the whole nine yards!" Tucker gestures expansively and Wash rolls his eyes at the melodrama.

 

They're having lunch together like they did before Simmons' accident, Simmons and Grif on one side of the table and Wash and Tucker on the other.

 

"Then you went down and Wash gunned down the rest with the machine gun before ordering us all around to help you. They cut through your suit, got to the control panel - man that shit was almost destroyed - "

"Yeah, it was miracle Grif managed to rewire it," Wash adds. Simmons raises his eyebrows at Grif, who gives him a surly "Shut up" but gently knocks Simmons' foot with his under the table.

" - then it was all - " Tucker starts doing a frankly quite terrible impression of Wash " - Tucker, get the Warthog, help me carry him," and he continues but Simmons isn't really listening anymore.

 

No, he's just smiling to himself as Grif tangles their feet together under the table. 

**Author's Note:**

> Look, LOOK, I realise there's a theme to my fics lately, but I have FEELINGS and I'm writing fic for them. 
> 
> Also, just in case it wasn't clear what exactly happened to Simmons (I wouldn't blame you if you didn't get it; I just couldn't find a suitable place to put an entire explanation in), basically he got shot - okay, wait, first I'll tell you my headcanons for Simmons' cyborg parts. 
> 
> So, I headcanon that the left side of his face and torso, his right arm, and his right leg are metal (like, openly metal), and there's other wires and shit under his skin and stuff, and of course the split between human and robot isn't perfectly in half, but yeah. If I could draw I would show it. His left lung is robot and his right lung is human. His brain is mostly human but there's are few robot parts in it so he can control his cyborg parts (that's why he can't remember anything in the beginning; part of his memory is offline). Anyway, so his control panel is on his left side near his ribs. He has his human heart, but he also has a "robot heart" further to the left to make sure all his systems are running. 
> 
> Okay, so what happened was Simmons got shot and the bullet damaged the robot heart. So it stopped working and therefore Simmons' cyborg parts stopped working (his left eye, his left lung, right arm, right thigh, etc.) So Grif rewired the power so his life support cyborg parts (lung, eye, brain, stuff he needs to survive) would work, but non-vital parts (arm, leg, etc.) wouldn't. 
> 
> Sorry for the long explanation, but I hope it clears some things up if you were confused.


End file.
